


drabble collection

by dawnmarionette



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Post Game, goro the bitter snark master, granblue fantasy hell, im so sorry these arent really in order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnmarionette/pseuds/dawnmarionette
Summary: for any small ideas i have. mostly akeshu





	1. HL (honest love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: akeshu + check out my character in #granbluefantasy! as part of a writing swap with a friend

“hey, hey, goro.”

goro heaves a long-suffering sigh. “yes, akira.”

“check this out.” though he’s been prompted to look at whatever inane thing akira is doing on his phone, goro isn’t given much of a chance to do anything before the little screen is held directly in front of his face.

“what…” goro leans back as he struggles to focus his eyes without crossing them. “what am i looking at?”

“it’s that game i told you about. you’d like this guy.” goro eyes the screen dubiously. ah, yes, the infamous “grand blue fantasy” or whatever. futaba had gotten akira hooked on it a few weeks ago and he hasn’t shut up about it since. goro hopes deeply that someday, akira’s hobbies may be less bizarrely niche (and influenced by futaba’s even weirder hobbies, though the two things are directly connected) but until then… this.

“and why would that be?”

akira’s sly smile immediately makes him even more suspicious. “he’s a dashing phantom thief who constantly outwits the bumbling detective trying to catch him.”

goro’s expression and voice are equally flat as he stares back at akira. “having a hacker isn’t quite the same thing as you personally  _outwitting_ me, akira. are you ever going to let that go?”

“nope. now come here, i want to show you how to play. you’ll like it.”

“i sincerely doubt that.”

“it’s strategic! kind of. it’s also kind of a time-sink but pretty worth it.”

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but i often don’t have that much spare time to be investing in free-to-play phone games.”

“but we can play together! you can bond with everyone!”

“no.”

“ _pleeaase,_ goro? at least make an account for the giveaways right now. for me?” he’s doing that idiotic flirting _thing_ where he widens his eyes and looks up at goro through his lashes, and goro hates himself every time this happens because it always works.

“you’re making dinner every night for a week if i do this,” goro threatens, as if they both don’t know that akira loves making dinner and would do so most of the time anyways if goro didn’t insist on taking on half the chores “to be fair.” he likes to tease goro by acting like a housewife in an apron, anyhow.

akira grins like he’s won something, and goro begrudgingly admits to himself that he would subject himself to any irritating, trivial game to see that expression again.

* * *

it isn’t until a couple months later that akira lets out a sound from the other room somewhere between a yelp and a curse word. goro noncommittally lifts a brow where he’s lounging on the bed, not bothering to move because he can hear akira running (clumsily, from the sound of it) towards the bedroom. true to form, akira comes skidding into view a few moments later, sliding on the wood in his socks and nearly crashing into the wall as goro looks on in bemusement.

“can i help you?”

“you-” akira has to stop and catch his breath from his near death experience. he’s holding goro’s laptop, for whatever reason, and goro is just glad he hadn’t dropped it. if he was going to fall goro fully expected him to take the impact to save the computer.

“me,” goro answers through an amused huff of breath.

“is this-” akira reaches the bed in a few strides, flips open the laptop to whatever he’d had open before to show goro, “is this _yours?_ ”

there’s a granblue fantasy profile open in the browser, the trophy “fallen angel guide” displayed neatly over a threatening chaos ruler class gran and his team of lucio, tweyen, and jeanne d’arc. sandalphon and seruel are displayed there in the sub slots too, of course, along with the ivory seven-star sword he’d worked so hard for.

“ah.”

“i was trying to find the movie tickets in your email and this was still open.” akira’s voice is incredulous. “are you _kidding me?”_

goro can’t help the self-satisfied smirk. it’s impossible to fight back. “no, i will not carry your raids for you.”

_“goro!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im pretty nervous about posting something for the first time & figured a drabble collection would be the lowest possible commitment to start with. hi


	2. Blue Chests Are a Scam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang Ruins Goro Akechi's Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: akeshu + check out my character in #granbluefantasy! my friend's piece in our prompt swap, which i'm posting for him because he can't post it on ao3 himself. please give his writing all the love it deserves

“What are you doing?”

Akechi tries to keep his voice as pleasant and not tired-of-your-bullshit-y as he possibly can. The last thing he needs right now is to have Akira turn against him. Right now, however, Akira is not turned against him, nor is he turned towards any of the possible directions where shadows could come shambling forth at Any. Given. Time.

No, Akira Kurusu is tapping away at his phone, like he has been every day for the past 3 weeks. Akechi is tired. So tired. He is this close to skewering Akira’s phone with his mask.   
  
“I’m playing Granblue.”

Ryuji’s head jerks up. “Oh shit, is the reset now?” And then he, too, takes out his phone.

“It was 30 minutes ago,” Futaba says, something vaguely blue and not mission-related flashing in front of her goggles and orb… thing. “My rolls were trash again. Only three bronze moons. Total shit.”

“Oracle. Language,” Ann admonishes gently, then glances down at her own phone. “Fuck.”

Akechi feels like he’s in a cult. It’s miserable. Haru and Makoto had elected to sit this trip to Mementos out, and he sorely regrets not joining them. Something about team participation, and building trust. Though he feels it constantly, the desire to go back and shoot his past self in the head point-blank is particularly intense in this very moment. 

Today is smack-dab in the middle of pollen season. Even the Shadows seem listless and groggy. He thinks he saw one wipe its nose, or lack thereof, and wishes he could do the same.

“What is Granblue?” Akechi asks with a polite smile, while imagining which angle would be best to blow Akira’s brains out.   
  
“It’s a game where you punch things and get stuff,” Futaba answers. Akechi thinks about punching her, but he is interrupted by a text from Akira.

_ Check out my character in #Granblue Fantasy! _

“What is this brown-haired person?” Akechi asks, somewhat less politely this time. His voice comes out a bit nasally. Fuck.

“His name is Sandalphon,” Akira responds, shifting a bit closer to Akechi and showing him his phone screen, something Akechi decidedly did not ask to happen. He sees Sandalphon’s yelling face alongside a host of buttons and irritating-looking characters. “He’s an edgelord,” Futaba adds. “Joker has shit taste.”

“An edge… hmm. I see.” Akechi has no idea what the fuck an edgelord is. He changes tack. “Why is he yelling?”

“Sandalphon? Because he’s an edgelord and he hates life, and his boyfriend Lucifer-sama won’t love him back.” 

What the fuck is an edgelord.

“ _ Can’t _ love him back,” Ann says with a tinge of sadness, and Futaba nods somberly. He thinks he hears Ryuji say something like “Press F to pay respects,” but that can’t be right, because Akechi has no idea what that means.

“You all seem very invested in this game,” Akechi says with what he hopes is a kind and not murderous tone. And they are. Except for Yusuke, who has taken the wheel of the Morgana-bus. Akechi sincerely hopes that Yusuke’s driving skills are as bad as his social ones, so that he could perhaps run Akechi over at this very moment in time.

“Oracle introduced us to this game. It’s very fun.” Akira glances up. “Do you want to play with us?”

_ No.  _ “Yes,” Akechi says instead, because he’s a fucking idiot and certainly was not caught off guard by Akira’s gently inviting look. “I mean, perhaps. I’m quite busy with my work, and school is…”

“Great. I’ll send you a link.”   
  
“Great.” Terrible. Akechi flashes his best TV smile anyways, letting it slide off his face when Akira’s attention turns back to his phone screen. An ominous growl echoes somewhere to Akechi’s right.

Akira taps a few buttons, and soon enough, a girl’s voice blasts out of Akira’s phone, at once muffled and too loud in the stuffy air of Mementos.

“Dude, no fucking way. You got Summer Heles!” Ryuji near-shouts, immediately at Akira’s side and peering at his phone. “What the hell, man. This is the third limited character you’ve gotten this week.”

“His luck is insane,” Futaba interjects, just as Ann comments that Akira has appeased the ‘Gacha Gods’, whatever the hell that is.

“He’s not even going to use any of his girl characters anyways,” Ryuji complains, leaning his head against Akira’s shoulder in a way that inspires irritation in Akechi even more intense than his normal spite for the delinquent. “I mean, his teams are all guys. He’s too—”

“--I sent you the link to the app,” Akira cuts in. “I think you’ll enjoy it. We don’t have any time to play seriously, but we’re all part of a crew together. It’s a fun game.” 

Then Akira flashes him one of  _ those _ . Those shitty tiny smiles of encouragement under those messy bangs of his that he never fucking cuts, or combs, even; meanwhile Akechi spends 2 hours every day trying to get his hair to sit just  _ so _ , trying to get his makeup and clothes right. Akira probably thinks his uncombed hair and tiny smiles and shitty mask look charming. And he’d be right. He does look incredibly charming.

“...Right,” Akechi says, in his infinite intelligence and wit. “Yes. Of course. I look forward to it,” Akechi says, with a smile he hopes will come out as gentle and instead probably comes out as weak.  _ Keep it together, Akechi _ , he admonishes himself. He’ll play the game for a few weeks to appease Akira and his brainless gang, and then he’ll delete it.

Easy.

  
  
  


“I can’t believe you have three Eternals already,” Ryuji comments, lying backwards on Akira’s attic-sofa with his head hanging over the edge of the cushions and feet propped up on the back. He has a lollipop in his mouth. It is disgusting.

“It’s really nothing special,” Akechi assures, tapping through his pending raids to check if any Last Storm Harps have dropped. It most certainly is something special, and no harps have dropped.

Akechi has spent the past month playing the game obsessively at any given opportunity. It has lead to a few unfortunate incidents in the Metaverse, and a great deal of displeasure on Shido’s part, but it has also lead to Feower, Song, and Seox joining his party, so Shido could literally order his death and he would die mostly happy.

“Could you kill this raid for me?” Akira, who is very clearly able to clear his own damn raids, asks Akechi, because he knows that Akechi wants the MVP chest. And he does, dammit. He has no shame, even at Akira’s pathetic charity. Granblue is more important than such trivial human emotions such as ‘shame’, ‘honor’, ‘desire to sleep’, and ‘fear of being murdered’.

On the few occasions he has been Granblue-less (phone died), he has spent the time planning out increasingly brutal ways to murder Akira. So far he has settled on strangling him with his bare hands. 

He hates Akira Kurusu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we wrote our own ideas off the prompt and completely independently arrived at the identical conclusion that akira would drag goro into gbf before goro goes hard as fuck into hl


	3. acerbic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the millionth take on a goro lives au

Sakura doesn’t like him. That fact is made even clearer when she eyes him as one might a mysterious rash- somewhat repulsed, and wary of getting too close lest the disease reach you.

Goro smiles pleasantly at her. She makes a face and steps behind Akira, like a spoiled sibling. “Ew, he‘s smiling at me like a creep. Make him stop.” Never mind that Goro couldn’t be a threat even if he wanted to be- and he very much does want to be- with his hands held tight behind him where he’s sitting on a futon, notably apart from the others whispering amongst themselves.

Akira, to his credit, doesn’t outwardly react at all besides a soft sigh. “It’s better than nothing.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on the vague notion of “nothing”. It can’t even have been half a day since Goro had been screaming in rage, cloaked in an aura of chaotic power and madness. He hadn’t anticipated the thieves walking out of that room alive and with their minds intact- at least, not without his own corpse at their backs. Finding himself once again in the space of Akira’s shitty attic room that contains more dust than oxygen had never been a possibility in his plans. Yet here he is, meeting their brief glances that range from worried to suspicious with a made-for-TV smile laced with poison. It does the trick, as they break eye contact uncomfortably. All the while, his thoughts are racing, trying to piece together _how_ he had actually ended up here.

At least, Goro is fairly sure he can’t have been out longer than a day; his body still aches from overexertion that hints at precious few hours of rest since he had thrown away his redemption but aside from that, his memories preceding this are worryingly unclear. He remembers the fight, of course, his mask breaking, and every part of his body aching as he collapsed, feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. The pain had done nothing to help with his quickly dissipating consciousness. With his vision blurring, he could barely make sense of the footsteps coming- closer? That didn’t make sense, they should’ve been growing quieter, but then- voices. A hushed whisper he could barely make sense of above the screaming of every bruised inch of his body.

“…leave him to _die-”_

“…the same as him, though…”

“…awake? We should…”

“…not leave a teammate behind.”

That last voice- that could only be their fearless leader himself. Only he had that strength underlying his tone, even speaking quietly. He had said this with finality, though the words themselves washed over Goro without comprehension.

The world had already gone dark and spinning when he was jostled, shifted. It isn’t until Goro looks back that he realizes the broken sound he had heard came from his own lips.

“Panther.”

The voice- Akira again. It was deep and soft, but Goro had been able to feel the rumble of it against his own body.

A faint _“dormina”_ is the last thing he remembers before his consciousness slipped away entirely.

Ears burning, Goro struggles to keep his expression under control as he realizes Akira had _carried_ him- presumably all the way back to Leblanc like some kind of fucking damsel in distress. And for what? To get information? They should’ve killed him when they had the chance. He isn’t planning on bargaining for his life, so they’re going to be sorely disappointed if they ask him to return the _favor_ by helping them out. The alternative is preferable by far. Any alternative.

“I imagine you all are gathered around where I’m handcuffed in a filthy attic for a reason.” He’s quite practiced at keeping a conversational tone no matter what destruction is raging in his mind, and is relieved to find he’s able to now, even with his gun conspicuously missing from his side. “How is this going to go? One shot for each of you? Or maybe for each of my victims? That’d be quite a few. I suggest finding a silencer, or the neighbors may get suspicious.”

Niijima makes a disgusted sound that he ignores. Okumura shifts uncomfortably, and he feels no guilt.

“No weapons,” Akira says. “That’s not why we’re here.”

Goro holds back a grimace, possibilities flooding his mind. He’d prefer death today to being turned in to the police- or worse. The possibilities are endless with the kinds of connections his father has, and the gravity of his own crimes threatening to crush him from the past.

Interrupting Goro’s quickly spiraling thoughts, Kitagawa suddenly steps closer to kneel in front of him- _how thoughtful, seiza just for me,_ his mind supplies bitterly- and leans in uncomfortably close to peer at his face, seeming oblivious to his own frown or even Goro’s hostility.

Goro resists the urge to spit at him, knowing with how weak his body still feels he would not be able to pull it off as rebelliously as he imagines. He settles for a sneer. “What? Thinking about painting the Detective Prince after his defeat?”

Sakamoto takes a step forward, looking like he’d love nothing more than to beat the shit out of Goro a second time, but Akira touches his shoulder and he reluctantly steps back, folding his arms unhappily. Goro smiles up at him placidly. Sakamoto growls, not unlike a dull guard dog.

Kitagawa doesn’t snap back immediately, instead sitting back and seeming to consider this, turning the words over in his head like he’s taking the idea seriously. For christ’ sake.

“No,” he answers finally. “I was just observing that you look frightened.”

Vividly, Goro imagines his head on a pike. “Excuse me?”

Kitagawa blinks slowly, like a cat. His gaze is more intense than he likely realizes, given that his personality is comparable to parody in his absurd level of obliviousness, but Goro looks back at him with silent fury all the same.

“You must be frightened. I know what it is like to be taken advantage of by the people who are meant to take care of you, and how difficult it is to reconcile with kindness. But you need not worry. We are not going to hurt you.”

Now Goro is seething, and it’s only with a herculean effort he remains composed, as he always has for an audience. “I don’t need your _pity.”_ He practically spits venom.  Kitagawa shakes his head, almost sadly. Goro can’t _stand_ it.

“No,” he says. “You need help.”

Takamaki speaks up before Goro can get out the words he wants to eviscerate Kitagawa. Possibly for the best, considering his position.

“I mean, it’s true that what he’s done is terrible, but… it can’t have been easy for him either. He was used, wasn’t he?” She looks around, seeking agreement from the others. “He doesn’t know how to trust anyone anymore- he thought we were going to kill him.”

“Because he was plannin’ on killing us!” Sakamoto blurts out. “No shit he deserves what he gets for it!”

Okumura is conspicuously silent. She hasn’t looked at him even once.

“I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt,” Takamaki insists.

“What, you think makin’ friendship bracelets with the guy is gonna fix him? Get real, Ann.”

“I believe what Ann is trying to say is that he perhaps needs human connections in order to begin to reform his broken trust.”

“I mean… I won’t pretend like I’m his biggest fan right now, or anything, but I think you guys are right. His friendship stats are seriously underleveled!”

“No, please, continue discussing my underlying psychological issues and its potential impact on all my interpersonal relationships,” Goro says easily, as if commenting on the weather. “I’ll wait.”

“Perhaps his state of mind is more relevant to _our_ safety than his own,” Niijima pitches in thoughtfully.

He imagines what it would look like if they were all dead. Give or take 35 liters of blood, plus however much cats have.

Kitagawa, who had migrated back to the group at some point, nods. “I agree with Ann and Futaba. He has never had the chance to choose his fate freely, as we have.”

He’s seen more blood than that in his lifetime, but never all at once. It would probably never wash out.

“They’re right,” Akira agrees too. He locks eyes with Goro, and Goro can’t quite suppress the wild thought that this is a staring contest, and whoever loses will be thrown to the wolves. “What do you want, Akechi?”

He narrows his eyes. “To kill Shido.”

Akira doesn’t even blink. “Other than that.”

“Not to be here.”

“Try again.”

“Keeping prisoners is hardly considerate of one’s _feelings,_ Kurusu.” Not that he expected that to matter in the least.

“Want coffee?”

“No.”

“I’ll go make some. You like that expensive shit with the Kilimanjaro roast, right?”

“How is _making coffee_ your brightest idea in this situation.”

“I’ll be back in a bit. No murdering while I’m gone.”

Akira waves a hand noncommittally before disappearing down the steps.

There are a few long moments of still silence, thick with tension, as the rest of the group seems to process that the only one of them who can handle Goro had left them alone with him. To make coffee.

 

* * *

  
“But-”

“He’s a Phantom Thief.”

Akira is met with eight incredulous stares. He pushes his glasses up neutrally.

“We don’t get rid of someone just because they screw up.”

His expression hasn’t changed, but his voice has just the hint of an edge now. Sometimes it’s hard to see the resemblance between the laid-back, sarcastic boy and the wickedly masterful thief, wild-eyed and cloaked in blue flame; almost seeming more fit to be some superhero’s arch-nemesis than the savior he acts as. Akira hides it well, with his intensely dark eyes masked behind large glasses, and his small, mischievous smile that seems to say _I know something you don’t._ His habit of playing with the fringe of his hair when he’s idle or lost in thought makes him seem almost shy. His image of a quiet, charming high school boy rivals Goro’s disguise. Disarmingly harmless. He’s the only person Goro has ever met with a better poker face than his own.

Now, though, those who know him well enough can see that his jaw is set, and though he isn’t angry yet, Joker is just beneath the surface. He isn’t the leader for nothing.

“He’s dangerous!” the cat protests.

“If we threw out anyone who endangered us,” Akira says mildly, “you wouldn’t be here right now.”

It’s delivered coolly, almost offhandedly, but the implication is clear. Akira is pulling rank, and he’s not going to be hearing any arguments about possibly abandoning Goro. It’s quiet as that fact seems to sink in.

“We can continue this discussion later, but for now we’re all tired. Go home, and we can discuss when to meet up again tomorrow.”

There’s a murmur of assent among the others and soon enough, the only ones left in Akira’s room are Akira, Goro, Morgana and Sakura.

She’s chewing at her lip, looking between him and Akira. Wonderful. Goro is sure he isn’t supposed to hear whatever she’s going to say next. “You sure you’re okay with him alone?”

“I’m here!” The cat arguing that he is additional manpower is almost funny enough to make Goro break his attempt to incinerate Akira with his eyes alone. Not quite, though.

“You’re useless in the real world, you don’t count.”

“What!”

“But really, Akira-”

“What, you don’t think I could take him?” Just like that, Akira’s faint aura of intimidation is gone, and he flashes Sakura a grin Goro can only describe as ‘shit-eating.’

She snorts and punches him in the arm, but it’s clear that sign of confidence had soothed her nerves. “Yeah, yeah. Your terrible jokes will stupefy him, maybe.”

Goro doesn’t miss the way Akira rubs at the spot on his arm when she looks away.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll hack the police station so they send a whole squad!”

“If you do that, I’ll tell Sojiro.”

“You traitor! I hope Akechi kills you in your sleep!”

 

* * *

  
Once the others had gone, Akira turns toward him but doesn’t quite look directly at him, his gaze somewhere on the floor between them. Contemplative, maybe, but it’s difficult to be sure with him.

“Morgana,” Akira says, glancing up to where the cat is perched on his bed. “Do you mind?”

Oh, good, Akira is getting rid of the witnesses. This day would be going somewhere after all.

Morgana doesn’t move right away. “Are you sure? I’m the one with claws if things get out of hand, you know.”

“Morgana,” Akira repeats, a touch exasperated this time. He’s giving Morgana a look that Goro can’t catch from where he’s positioned, but it seems to be good enough motivation for him to jump down from the bed and pad away, grumbling under his breath.

Akira waits where he is for everything to go quiet, then waits longer for good measure. Goro considers himself a patient person, he’s had to learn how to be, but even he has limits, especially with the way his skin is itching in anticipation of something, _anything._

“Well?” Goro snaps when he’s tired of staring at Akira’s shoulder blades. “There’s no one around to see, Kurusu. Get on with it.”

Akira finally turns toward him, arching an eyebrow. “Get on with what?”

Goro grits his teeth and determinedly ignores the voice in his head screaming for him to stand up and wrap the handcuff chains around Kurusu's throat, watch the light leave his eyes.

“Whatever it is you plan on doing with me,” he says instead. “It’s not as if anyone will miss me. I’m not going to beg, though, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Akira actually _laughs_ at him, the bastard. “What? No, Akechi, it’s nothing like that. I just want to talk to you. Figured you’d rather it be with me than me plus seven.”

Goro _would_ rather that, but he isn’t going to say it to Akira. “What about? You’ve already heard everything I have to say.”

There’s a beat as Akira’s smile fades; he seems to inspect Goro from behind his ridiculous glasses.

“I don’t think I have.”

“What else are you expecting to hear? An apology?”

Akira hums as if in thought. Goro doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he doesn’t like it.

“No.”

“…So you plan on staring at me all day to see what happens? I have to say, this dastardly plan of yours doesn’t seem very well thought out, o thief in the night.” The scathing tone he’d intended sounds suspiciously like the cat-and-mouse banter from before everything went to hell. Now that they aren’t in a fight to the death it’s a little harder to keep the murderous intent in his voice, while Akira is looking back at him just like he always would over the steam from their coffee.

Akira cracks a real smile this time. “I think dastardly plans are a little more your style, mysterious black mask.”

Goro isn’t amused. “What do you want.”

Akira gives no warning as he comes closer and drops down in front of him, relaxing back till he’s comfortably on the floorboards across from Goro, eye level. Too close.

Goro expects more teasing, from the suspicious sparkle in Akira’s eye when he leans closer, but it doesn’t come.

“I want to help you.”

Or maybe it does.

Goro barks out a dry laugh. “No, you don’t. You want me to cry about my father into your shoulder so I’ll be grateful and help you afterward. Your hero complex is too great for your own good.”

Akira says nothing, lips pressed tightly together. His eyes search Goro’s for something Goro has no doubt withered long ago.

“So that’s really it? You’re planning to play therapist to me so you can win against him?” Goro’s lip curls, and Akira still doesn’t respond. “I thought you were smarter than that, Kurusu.”

Apparently Akira’s dastardly plan is actually to piss Goro off into talking by not talking himself. Unfortunately, it’s working.

“Nothing? Am I right? The great leader of the Phantom Thieves wants me to change sides and play puppet for him instead?”

Akira shakes his head at that, black curls shifting gently with the movement. “I want to help you.”

 _“Stop saying that,”_ Goro snarls. “Nobody wants to help me. Not you, not fucking Niijima, and certainly not my father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: after more thought and general development of my concept of goro’s character (and akira’s for that matter), i have quite a few criticisms of how i wrote him here, and if/when i do give goro pov another shot, i think it would be much more grounded and with a clearer understanding of his goals/fears/etc, so i won't continue this piece. i won't delete it though because i think it's at least somewhat entertaining for what it's worth


	4. iris

  

there is no such thing as black eyes. goro knows this. knows it for a fact. all eyes that look black are merely brown, illused as the complete lack of color in the right light. but there are times, when dark eyes framed by dark lashes blink up at him innocuously, that he doubts this.  
it can’t be possible, can’t be _real,_ the way akira’s eyes gleam sometimes when he sees him- because goro swears he sees silver flashing in black, a mask pulled over a smirk, and it is impossible for the look of a dagger hidden under cloak to be some common shade of brown.

 

 

  
there is no such thing as red eyes. akira knows this. it’s a fact, plain and simple, but it’s hard to believe sometimes when he sees the way akechi’s eyes seem to _burn_ when he thinks that no one is looking. the blood red of mementos reflected in his eyes, turning them scarlet, is far more real than the calculated fluttering of lashes, soft brown and smiles for the camera. it has to be more than a trick of the light when he sees something bright hidden in those eyes that hints at ambition. a well-crafted, pleasant mask to cover the glimpses of fire beneath. sometimes, akira turns to look at him, and his gaze is met by glowing embers.

 

 


End file.
